Arresting Your Boss: A Nazi Commander

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And he graciously recorded it for us. If you were 17 and growing up in Milan, Italy in 1943, more than likely you would have been forced, indoctrinated, and brainwashed into fascism. The dictator of Italy responsible for it, Benito Mussolini, had been in power since 1922. My dad was born in 1926. The voice and image of Il Duce, as Italians were obliged to call Mussolini, were ubiquitous in Italy at the time. Mussolini would ultimately drag the country into the Second World War on the side of Germany's Adolf Hitler. My father is now 92 and lives an hour north of Milan.

His name is Pino Lella. If you had to pick a time to be a teenager in Milan, 1943 would have been the worst of choices. In June, as my dad was nearing his 17th birthday, the British began an intensive six-month bombing campaign.

It left a third of the city's population homeless, about 400,000 people. My father's younger brother, my uncle Mimo, narrowly escaped death one night following the bombing of a movie theater. My grandfather, Michele, in an effort to keep his boys from becoming victims of the continued bombing, sent my father and uncle to a Catholic boys' school. The school was located high in the Alps above Lake Como, and it was run by a very courageous priest by the name of Father Luigi Ray. At first, my father knew nothing of the Nazi brutality against Jews and others. In fact, he had learned to respect the Nazi high command, many of whom were customers of his family's leather goods store in Milan. But my dad became brutally aware of the Nazi crimes in September of 1943 when word came of 52 prominent Jews being rounded up by the Nazis and executed in the village of Mena on Lago Maggiore.

Their bodies were thrown into the lake for the local citizens to see. It was then that many Italians rebelled and began hiding and protecting their Jewish-Italian friends. They formed an underground railroad, a network of escape routes similar to the one that was developed to save American slaves before and during America's Civil War.

One of the network routes led through to Casalpina. This is where the Lello brothers were sent to wait out the bombing of Milan. For nine harrowing months while at Casalpina, from the fall of 1943 through June of 1944, the month of his 18th birthday, my father guided many Jewish refugees across the Alps into neutral Switzerland to escape Italy. He risked his life evading Nazi patrols, surviving avalanches and grenade attacks.

He was robbed by bandits disguising themselves as anti-fascist partisans. He often carried the weak and the elderly on his back in the dead of winter over the top of the Alps, some of the world's most rugged mountain terrain. Some had embarked on this journey with my father in such a way that they wore street shoes, not exactly hiking gear for the Alps in below-zero temperatures. At the time, my dad simply did what he was told to do and thought little of it. Father Ray instructed him to take people to safety, and so he did it. He knew it was dangerous, of course, but even to this day he doesn't think of what he did as heroic. He had faith in doing the right thing and such a high regard for Father Ray that he would have done anything for him. The missions gave him an identity, a meaningful purpose, and an opportunity to lead.

And like many 17-year-olds with reckless abandon, he thrived on the excitement and adventure of it all, at least while it lasted. In June of 1944, my father turned 18, the age at which young Italians were drafted by the state into the military. He had two choices. He could join Mussolini's fascist army and quite likely end up on the Russian front. His other option was to conscript with the German army.

His aunt and uncle had connections that might land him a secure and hopefully a safer job in the organization taught. This was the armament and the construction division of the Third Reich. For his safety, but against his wishes, Pino's father and mother talked him into enlisting in the German army. Dad reluctantly donned the military uniform with a Nazi swastika.

What happened next was almost unbelievable. Through a series of extraordinary circumstances, including his wounding during an Allied bombing raid, my father was ordered back to Milan to convalesce for two weeks. Then with a little help from family and his ability to speak French and drive a car, he landed a position as the personal driver and confidant for one of Hitler's most mysterious officers in the German high command. He was a man so powerful in Italy that he responded directly, personally, and only to Adolf Hitler. His name was General Hans Lehrs, the plenipotentiary of the Italian sector for organization taught.

To Pino's aunt and uncle, his assignment as the driver for such a powerful figure was a serendipitous opportunity of a lifetime. It could help change the direction of the war. They understood the importance of it because they were already working in secret for the Allies and the Italian resistance. The kind of information their nephew would now have access to could be critical for the fight against the Germans. My father, still a teenager, as a new and personal driver for this top Nazi commander, became a spy known to the Allies as the Observer. For the last year of the war, while driving General Lehrs around northern Italy, my dad learned the locations of tank traps, land mines, ammunition tunnels, and every fortification between Florence and Milan. He observed the Germans' main defensive positions. He secretly documented troop movements.

He took notes and photos, and he fed mounds of that crucial information to the Allies by using Uncle Albert's shortwave OSS radio. More than once, my father was nearly caught, which would likely have led to his torture and execution, but he kept the trust of an unwitting General Lehrs. My dad personally witnessed the Nazi persecution of Jews, as well as the working to death of slaves from many faiths and nationalities in work camps, hoping and dreaming that one day he could testify against those responsible. At midnight on April 24, 1945, upon orders from the resistance, my father single-handedly arrested General Hans Lehrs and delivered him to the American command, which was led by 5th U.S. Army Major Frank Nabel. For the next five days, he became Major Nabel's personal guide and translator, at last discarding his uniform and the Nazi swastika. On April 28th, Pino and Major Nabel witnessed a hideous moment in Italian history, the public desecration of Mussolini's body in Pizzale Loretto amid the hysteria and fanaticism of the frenzied Italian mobs. Hitler killed himself in Berlin two days later. With the deaths of the two fascist dictators, my father thought he was finished with the war, but in fact, the war wasn't quite finished with him.

In early May, the famous Brenner Pass through the Alps was the most dangerous corner of Europe. The German army was retreating from Italy through the pass into Austria. Thousands of Nazi troops who refused to surrender were on the run, being chased down and cut off by Italian resistance fighters and the U.S. Army. In the midst of this, my father was asked to do America a favor and accept the final mission. The Americans asked my dad to be a guide one last time, leading one final escape from Italy. His mission was to drive an important high-ranking Nazi from American custody to the Austrian border where he could safely be interrogated for the intelligence he possessed about Hitler's Reich.

Who was this top general? My dad was enlisted to escort to safety? None other than the very man he had driven for, the very man he had arrested and turned over to the Allies just weeks before, General Hans Lehrs. Distraught and tormented over the events of the last week of the war, my father accepted that final mission. You can only imagine the conversation in the car between my dad and General Lehrs. By the evening of that same day, May 3, 1945, my dad delivered General Lehrs to the Americans awaiting for him on the Austrian border. That final escort ended my father's involvement in World War II. But like many of that greatest generation, the experience and the weeks preceding the war's end continued to haunt him for the rest of his life.

Michael's story, his dad's story, a great World War II story here on Our American Stories. At Metro by T-Mobile, there's not a yada yada. That means no contracts, no price hikes, and no surprises. We don't even hide what the lawyers make us say.

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